


Promises Kept

by decaf_kitty



Series: Promises [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: BAMF Umino Iruka, Hokage Hatake Kakashi, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decaf_kitty/pseuds/decaf_kitty
Summary: Ten years into being Hokage, Kakashi was forced to send away his one-night lover on a long mission to a distant village.He stays in Konoha and waits for Iruka's return.





	Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

> ... by popular demand, the sequel:
> 
>  
> 
> _____

The bruises faded just like the first time.

For a while, he could feel them radiating under his mask, beneath his cowl. But all too soon the broken skin healed, and the mark disappeared, leaving him bereft.

Kakashi held onto the memory of the love bites; he touched his neck at night. With the Sharingan gone, he could stare at the moon through his bedroom window with both eyes, watching it cycle from full to crescent over and over again. His ANBU bodyguards were always nearby, alert and on guard for assassination attempts, even when he pretended to sleep. He was well aware they knew about his insomnia and lack of appetite from the silent appearances of lavender sprigs under his pillow and carefully prepared bento boxes on his office desk.

But life was torture without Iruka.

He had survived torture on several occasions: he had never been broken, but this was different. This filled him up one day with grief and emptied him out the next. This left him a glassy-eyed shell of his former self.

The other shinobi noticed. They would, being shinobi. 

No one said anything to him, afraid of him as they were, uncertain as to what was going on. 

Only once did Gai allude to Iruka’s absence, uncomfortably observant and unfortunately kind. His old friend was sitting in his wheelchair, studying the landscape of Konoha, having just finished dinner with Rock Lee and his shy young son. 

With those big black eyes of his, Gai had slanted Kakashi a sympathetic look and asked softly: 

“Do you miss him, Rival?”

It was so casual and simple, but Kakashi had stared hard at the village below them with his old eye and his new reconstructed one, unsure if he would respond. Finally, he had nodded once, only once, slow and measured, keeping his gaze away from his disabled best friend. 

When Gai sighed in understanding and patted his shoulder, Kakashi gritted his teeth together so hard he could hear the cracking noise reverberating in his ears.

That night, he mentally marked the calendar: it had been three months and six days since he had last seen Iruka walking away from Konoha like a lonely figure lost on the road of life.

He felt imprisoned by a genjutsu, trapped by unknown forces. It made him agitated, snapping at civilians, lashing out harshly at nin. Although he didn’t need the practice, Kakashi abruptly resumed training alone out of sight of the village. He perfected old jutsus, crafting chakra into gauntlets of lightning and bright crackling death. He stayed out late, staring up at the twinkling white stars, wondering if Iruka was somewhere out there watching them at the same time.

Life became routine, monotonous, dragging on without his consent. His Hokage office was entirely empty, even though it was full of things. But they were just that – things – objects – pieces of paper – mission scrolls – things occupying the places where Iruka once had been. 

His whole life was devoid of warmth. 

Seemingly haunted by the ghost of the Sharingan, Kakashi could perfectly recall where Iruka had sat, prim and proper, in his office on his first night as Hokage. He had asked, already bored out of his mind and stressed beyond measure, if Iruka would help him get through the ridiculous rubber-stamping that Shikamaru had already refused to assist him with. Ever diligent and generous, Iruka had agreed with enthusiasm – and he asked if Kakashi wanted dinner, he’d go get ramen for both of them.

So it began – and then continued, nightly, weekly, monthly, yearly – without pause for a full decade.

By the fourth month of Iruka’s absence, Kakashi’s entire life was reduced to waking up, working, falling asleep, in an ever-eternal perpetual loop. He watched the sunrise, he watched the sunset. He spoke to civilians and shinobi, Shikamaru and ANBU, his few friends and his former students. Food tasted a little less interesting, drinking sake seemed pointless. He had lost weight, he could count his ribs. He knew he was in mourning, preemptive and purposeless mourning, but it was hard to shake the sensation off his shoulders, off his soul.

Instead, he sunk further and further into paralyzed limbo.

Days flattened out into nothing. 

The seconds stretched on forever.

Iruka didn’t send a single word: his mission was far too important. Anyone intercepting the information could kidnap or kill the child, a potential key asset and ally to Konoha. 

Kakashi understood that quite well, having formalized the mission himself, but he was still considering grinding glass into his eyeballs by the fifth day of the fifth month out of crazed frustration.

He was truly anxious on the first day of the sixth month, something his ANBU were soundlessly attuned to without him admitting a thing. Although he had been a decent Hokage until now, he found himself interrupting anyone who came into his office, agreeing to whatever they wanted before shuffling them right back out the door. He tugged repeatedly at his mask, he kept putting on and taking off his hat, he compulsively petted his own gloved hands.

Gai dropped by around midnight with ramen.

Kakashi stared at him, utterly useless, before slowly dropping his gaze down to his desk.

The noodles were soft mush and the soup freezing cold by the time they ate dinner.

He had considered the first six months torture, worse than enduring Itachi’s genjutsu, worse than witnessing Gai start to dissolve into ash, worse than finding his father’s corpse, worse than spiraling lightning chakra through Rin’s chest, worse than fighting his long-lost friend with fist and kunai – because – because –

Those moments had happened directly to him, things he could face and confront head on.

His dreams still turned into nightmares featuring those horrors, but this strained separation from Iruka… not knowing if Iruka was safe, happy, suffering, injured, dead… 

His nightmares now included visions of Iruka in his death throes, wet blood dripping off his hair in fat droplets and tears curving over his scarred cheeks.

Iruka’s chalk-dusted, calloused fingers curling through dirt, reaching in vain for Konoha, for him.

Iruka’s caring brown eyes turned cold and distant and dead.

Kakashi had no solution for the things he could not physically confront.

His time as a shinobi, ANBU, war commander, and Hokage had all taught Kakashi the same thing: Every man, woman, and child in existence was red, raw meat. They were all cloth-clad skeletons, walking ever closer towards death. They could be warm and alive on occasion, but the end result was always decomposing flesh, gushing torrents of blood, and grey stone covering mortal remains.

But, somehow, with Iruka –

With Iruka, there was a fantastic light, unearthly and unbelievable. He had seen it early on, before his time as Hokage, but he couldn’t define it well enough, and so he had ignored it. 

Then one night they were sitting together, shoulder to shoulder, glowering at some absurd excuse for a jounin mission report, and Iruka had leaned further into him, laughing slightly, saying under his breath, “You were never this bad, Kakashi.” 

The little light blossomed in his chest.

His heart went wild with it.

He found himself touching Iruka eagerly whenever he could. He loved seeing Iruka blush in response, smile at him, get a bit flustered but never pull away. He relished the times when Iruka closed the distance between them, bringing their bodies together, becoming so close that Kakashi could smell the other man, feel his pulse race, and he wondered what kept Iruka so good and kind.

Then there was the night Iruka had offered him sake with that sweet smile of his, saying that they’d never celebrated his inauguration, and they had gotten impossibly wasted.

Kakashi had dismissed the silent condemnation of his late-night ANBU bodyguard, winking at him when Iruka wasn’t looking, but the man was right in some way, because –

Iruka could certainly handle his liquor, just not that much liquor. He had toppled over Kakashi, crashing both of them down to the ground. His old friend was rosy-cheeked and dark-eyed and kissing him like the world was ending, when that had been a decade earlier, when Kakashi had stepped in front of Iruka in the invasion of Konoha and _minutes later he had died_ -

The kiss was its own astonishing and unexpected thrill, but then Iruka had pushed aside Kakashi’s cowl and _bitten_ him through the cloth of his mask over his neck, so hard that Kakashi felt his chakra flush in defense, instinctively readying for a fight.

In response, his ANBU bodyguard had hauled Iruka away in severe disapproval. 

Neither of them had ever said anything about that night.

Iruka had been the first to initiate intimate contact after that, about a week later: they’d been eating ramen before doing paperwork when Kakashi accidentally dropped his chopsticks and one had rolled over and clattered onto the ground. He sighed, already exhausted, unwilling to tolerate one more damn thing gone wrong –

But then Iruka slipped his hand over Kakashi’s to comfort him, and he smiled, small and soft, before murmuring, “It’s okay, Kakashi, you can have mine.”

It was a bad habit of his friend’s, to drop the -sama, the -san, whenever he was feeling intimate and familiar, but Kakashi held those moments close to his heart, along with the light, and he cherished them in the dark of night when storm clouds covered the moon and stars.

On the twenty-second day of the seventh month, Kakashi forced himself to ask Shikamaru if he should send a team of shinobi to recover Iruka’s remains.

Shikamaru tilted his head to the side, critically studying him. 

“You think he’s dead, Hokage-sama?”

Kakashi said nothing in response. His expression was deliberately blank. He felt dead inside.

After far too long, Shikamaru shrugged and said, “Give it another month. Iruka-sensei’s tough.”

The rest of the seventh month stumbled onwards through time, pulling Kakashi along with it. He answered questions without thinking, he got in trouble with more than a few different shinobi. He couldn’t affect an artificial smile anymore, he was starving for relief, but Shikamaru was right, he needed to wait for it to be eight months, then Iruka would be two months late, and a team could –

A team could go find his body.

His bones.

Iruka’s bones.

And they could bring him back to Konoha, so Kakashi could properly bury Iruka’s remains.

That way he could see Iruka again.

_But he promised…_

Kakashi was sleeping, stuck in a dream: he’d pressed Iruka against the wall of his office, enjoying Iruka’s strong hands threaded deep into his hair. He was between Iruka’s bare thighs, licking along the man’s femoral artery up towards his arousal, staring in adoration at the flushed wonder on Iruka’s scarred face. He was tracing Iruka’s sharp hipbones with his fingers, keeping him in place, holding him close, protecting him within Konoha’s walls…

“He’s safe at the east gate.”

Kakashi grabbed the ANBU in two places, the neck and the right wrist, twisting her instantly down on his bed, slamming his knee hard on her spine, crushing the breath out of her. He blinked both eyes in blurry confusion, suddenly aware that he hadn’t eaten at all today, nor had he told any of his bodyguards he was heading to sleep earlier than usual.

“What did you say?” he asked sharply, his ANBU’s words sinking into him like shuriken.

“He’s at the east gate. He’s alive, Hokage-sama.”

Kakashi was already finishing the Body Flicker jutsu as he ordered, barely restrained, “Stay here,” and then he was standing on the east side of Konoha, desperately searching for the silhouette of his old friend in the scarce moonlight.

And…

And there was Iruka, unknowingly walking towards him, coming home to Konoha.

Kakashi started forward, but his legs were traitorous and clumsy, and he made more noise than he meant, attracting Iruka’s bleary-eyed attention. But he kept moving, and Kakashi was soon standing in front of the other man, extending out his arms to embrace him. Iruka was reaching for him, too, and they met in a heated frantic collision, where bones seemed too pronounced and limbs were in the way and Kakashi got a mouthful of Iruka’s mysteriously loose hair and – 

Entangled together in the darkest part of the night, they suddenly both spoke at the same time:

“I love you, Iruka, I love you so much.”

“God, I missed you.”

They instantly pulled away from each other, just enough to see the other’s face. Kakashi realized he wasn’t wearing his mask as Iruka’s eyes lowered to his mouth; he knew he was smiling wide, overwhelmed with excitement, but he didn’t try to hide it, not from Iruka.

Iruka surprised him by laughing in a weak, giddy way, holding him closer and tighter. Although he was mostly clutching onto Iruka’s pack, Kakashi kept up the embrace, shoving his bare face further into the other man’s long hair, breathing in deep the scent that had been enticing him for the last eight months, the last decade. He found himself laughing, too, a relieved manic sort of laughter, feeling desperation dropping out of his bones and into the dirt around Konoha. 

But then Iruka’s hand smoothed along his scarred cheek, and Kakashi turned to look at him in silent question.

His amusement died when he saw the other man’s expression.

It was the same look Iruka had once given him with sake spilled around them.

A moment later, Iruka kissed him, rough and demanding and wild. Refusing to lose his grip on Kakashi’s silver-grey hair, Iruka struggled to wrench his pack off, so Kakashi caught its strap and tossed the whole thing the ground. He went after Iruka’s flak jacket next, forcing down the zipper and shoving it off his shoulders. In parallel, he could feel Iruka trying to remove his shirt, pushing it upwards off his torso, entangling it in his arms. Kakashi jerked away so he could get nude quicker, and he lunged for Iruka’s shirt in turn, not slowing down when Iruka tried to say something to him. 

In his distraction to remove both their clothing, Kakashi didn’t see Iruka’s intention until too late. When he was cruelly shoved away, he felt a flash of fear, that he’d misread something, but then Iruka was dragging him down, down, down, to lay flat on the ground by the east gate.

He looked up for one single clear second at the man above him, and he loved the impressive, insane sight of Iruka Umino, disheveled and flushed, endless nude brown skin, leaning down to his shoulder, to his neck, to his throat, where he was suddenly bitten terribly hard.

Kakashi clutched at Iruka’s muscular waist, not minding the moan he made in heated response to the rage of pain and pleasure running through his system.

He could feel Iruka fumbling with his own belt they were so intertwined, and he copied the movement on instinct, twisting down his pants just enough that their arousals met for the very first time.

Shuddering above him at the sudden sensation, Iruka sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight, his scarred face beautiful beyond belief.

When Kakashi bit down on his shoulder a second later, Iruka groaned so loud that the sound blew through Kakashi’s brain like a kunai snapping straight through his skull.

He was forceful with himself, snaking his arm between them, finding the space between his thighs behind his arousal. Earlier when throwing Iruka’s flak jacket to the ground, he’d instantly found a vial of oil with the sort of delirious fearful investigative instinct and skill that had sent him high up to the status of Hokage. Moving up to kiss and suck and bite at Iruka’s neck, leaving dark marks across his skin, Kakashi was relentless preparing himself, far too efficiently, far too fanatically. He couldn’t tell if Iruka was thinking the same thing as him, but the other man was hard and hot, insistently thrusting against Kakashi’s bare abdomen, and that was enough encouragement for several million millennia, let alone one solitary night.

Kakashi’s voice caught in his throat as he struck the spot that sent sparkles spinning into his vision.

Iruka disrupted the keen sensation by grabbing his hair, yanking upwards, and kissing him with the sort of brutality that made Kakashi’s bones ache and his skin scream electric.

He was holding onto Iruka’s waist with his free hand, but now he shot over to grasp Iruka’s cock, spreading slick over its length. Dragging the man’s whole body downwards, Kakashi aligned their hips and drew up his knees, pressing his legs around Iruka and insisting what he wanted and needed in total absolute silence. 

In contrast, Iruka was noisy, he was expressive and brilliant, he was white shining light in the darkness.

And he fucked just like he kissed - like the world was ending all around them.

Kakashi couldn’t keep quiet, he realized with hysterical delight. He was far too violent in holding onto Iruka, but he loved the bruises he was leaving, looking at them as his fingers trailed elsewhere. His back was being scratched and rubbed raw on dirt and rock; his skin shivered in the cold of the night. 

But Iruka was deep in him, deep within him, making him alive, keeping him alive.

He stirred himself upwards and grabbed Iruka by the back of the head, winding his fingers through Iruka’s long loose hair and pulling him down for a needy frantic kiss. 

Although he’d only wanted them to kiss again, Iruka took it in another direction, his right hand abandoning Kakashi’s waist and going for his flushed arousal, stroking him with terrifying familiarity and ruthless care.

Pleasure spiking every one of his nerves, Kakashi couldn’t help but moan into Iruka’s mouth. He was shaking in the dirt, moving backwards at every powerful thrust of Iruka’s body into his. He was utterly unable to hold himself still; he was becoming alive with the sheer hot glory of being entered, filled, taken. 

He tore his lips away to messily kiss the bruises on Iruka’s shoulder, where he panted, wet and desperate, saying over and over again, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The sight and sensation of Iruka above him in shuddering ecstasy tipped Kakashi over the edge, and he sucked in as much skin as he could, wanting to bruise Iruka spectacularly and create something new in existence to demonstrate the depth of his love. 

Unable to hold himself up any longer, Iruka collapsed downwards, his scarred cheek resting where Kakashi’s Sharingan used to sleep like a scarlet assassin. 

Without saying anything, they wrapped their arms around each other at the same time.

It was minutes later, when their breathing evened out and the cold darkness made the world more disturbing, that Iruka whispered into his silver-grey hair, “I love you, too.”

Kakashi hummed low in his throat, deeply and almost unbearably pleased. He pulled Iruka closer, something that seemed almost impossible, and nuzzled into Iruka’s beautiful bruised neck, hoping he could linger there the rest of his life, their lives.

“Kakashi?” 

Iruka’s gentle voice roused him from his sated thoughts.

“Mmm?” 

“We need to go inside.” 

He tried to pull away, but Kakashi held him tight, fixing them in place together. Iruka laughed a little, audibly exhausted but also amused with the affectionate force. 

“I promise I’m not going anywhere except with you.”

Kakashi opened his eyes and let Iruka separate from him to see him after sex.

But, all of a sudden, he accused Iruka impulsively, staring up at him: “You’re late.”

Iruka’s hand stroked Kakashi’s scarred cheek as his expression became pained and apologetic. “The mission went bad,” he admitted softly, his eyes going weak. “She’s safe now, but half of her village turned on her.” 

Before Kakashi could even consider an appropriate response, Iruka’s gaze drifted off to the side to the dirt outside Konoha. He was almost inaudible as he reported in a lower tone, “I thought about you every day, even when I –” 

Kakashi felt his eyes narrow; he could hear regret in Iruka’s voice.

But suddenly Iruka was steel shining bright in the sunlight.

“Even when I killed all those people, I thought to myself - _I won't break my promise, I will see Kakashi again, I will not let him waste away waiting for me_.”

As Iruka closed his eyes, exhaustion sliding over him, Kakashi worked his arms around him once again, his heart throbbing in his chest. He swept through the hand formations for a Body Flicker jutsu, bringing them so close together that they became one. He ignored that he’d left half their clothes and Iruka’s pack behind in the road and instead laid Iruka down on the bed he had neglected for the last decade at his familial compound. 

He waited until Iruka fell asleep.

Then Kakashi cleaned himself off, dressed in old shinobi clothes, and spent more chakra reappearing in his office. He informed his ANBU about his new location and explained that he’d like to be left alone the next few days. 

Before he disappeared, he admitted that he appreciated their concern over the last several months and asked that they please tell Gai not to worry any more, Iruka had finally come home.

Kakashi held Iruka in his arms as they slept.

The next day, Iruka got ramen for them like he always had. 

Later that night, they sat shoulder-to-shoulder, sorting through paperwork together at the Hatake compound. Somewhere between Iruka lamenting Kakashi’s bad handwriting and Kakashi stealing a kiss, they caught each other glancing at one another, and soon there were more kisses, and new bruises, and long luxurious sighs, and sweet agonizing love.

They made new promises with no time limits.

Promises that were kept forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, each and every one of you. You are so glorious and good. 
> 
> I wish you the very best today, tomorrow, the day after that, and every day of the rest of your beautiful long life. 
> 
> Although we may never meet, please know that I believe in you.


End file.
